


Inkaro

by kronette



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Escape by moonlight, First Kiss, M/M, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Will takes care of Hannibal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:53:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24904135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kronette/pseuds/kronette
Summary: With Hannibal unconscious below deck, Will makes some decisions but studiously avoids thinking about everything else.Awareness sharpening as he unlocked the cabin door, Will’s gaze went immediately to Hannibal’s face. Lashes fluttered but remained stubbornly closed, Hannibal’s skin as grey as his ruined shirt.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 4
Kudos: 76





	Inkaro

Will hauled Hannibal out of the raging sea, just as much as Hannibal dragged him away from the relentless tide. The bluffs were steep but had enough edges to cling to, the cold water numbing agonizing knife wounds. 

The water also blissfully numbed Will’s mind, blanking his actions of the past half hour. The past few days. Months. The last three years. 

The faint moonlight shining down on them cast Hannibal’s face in deep shadows, more skull than man. Through the salt spray, Will could see Hannibal’s lips moving, but it was impossible to make out the words through the crash of the waves. 

Exhaustion clawed at him, coaxing Will to unclench his frozen fingers from the rocks and sink down into the water. 

Into blessed silence. 

Free of pain. 

Free of influence. 

Freedom tasted coppery and sharp, and Will spat blood out to blend with the sea. 

Hannibal was still struggling to speak to him. The round shape of Hannibal’s trembling lips triggered something in Will’s brain, an off-hand remark Hannibal had made upon their arrival: _This house constructs the perfect illusion of Odysseus being caught between Scylla and Charybdis, but the bluff grants a third option._

A third option meant escape and escape by water meant a boat. There had to be an inlet somewhere along the bluff base and Will needed to find it before his strength ran out. By the grace of fools and those who love them, moonlight burst full above them, illuminating the shadows and giving Will a target to focus his energy. 

Numbed fingers scraped along the rocks as Will made his way carefully over to Hannibal. The ache returned to his abused shoulder as Hannibal lost his grip and slipped down into the water, only Will’s fist in his shirt keeping Hannibal from being swept out with the tide. 

“ _No_ ,” Will choked in denial, on his own blood, in fear. 

Time slowed to a snail’s enjoyment of its meal, then whizzed by at breakneck speed as Will’s trembling hand wrapped around the anchor chain. How he managed the half-unconscious Hannibal on board was a mystery, but he lay sprawled on the deck next to Hannibal and caught his breath, staring up at the flighty moon now teasingly covered by wispy clouds. 

Sharp, bright pain returned with a vengeance, throbbing in his shoulder and cheek. Will spared a look to Hannibal, whose closed eyes and even breathing were either a great ploy or he was truly unconscious. As the pulsating agony increased in his cheek, Will found it didn’t matter whether Hannibal was pretending or not; his only concern was relief. 

A search below deck uncovered an extensive medical kit, complete with prescription-strength pain killers which Will swallowed down with his blood. Prodding carefully around the inside of his mouth, Will stuffed gauze inside his cheek, then taped more over the outside. With shaking hands, he fastened another gauze over his sluggishly bleeding shoulder, wondering if he’d ever have full use of his right arm again.

Leaning heavily against the cabinets, he started to shake as his memory threatened to unleash everything. Beating back the flood of emotions with all the strength he possessed, Will focused on slowing his ragged breaths until he felt steadier. 

He went on deck and pulled Hannibal carefully down the steps and laid him on the bed, Hannibal remaining unresponsive throughout the entire ordeal. 

Will knelt to check on the gunshot wound, but stopped with his hands hovering over the ragged shirt. Moving on autopilot, he searched the rest of the deck, locating enough canned food to last several weeks, bottled water, and deep sea fishing rods and reels.

Unboxing an extra reel, Will deftly took it apart and methodically cut a length of line. Bringing Hannibal’s wrists together, he quickly looped over and around, keeping enough tension in the line so that Hannibal couldn’t free himself. 

A memory slipped through his defenses: Hannibal leaping onto the Dragon’s back, teeth rending flesh asunder. Ignoring the gooseflesh that pebbled his skin, Will threaded the fishing line beneath and over Hannibal’s thighs in a figure eight, refusing to touch him more than necessary. He didn’t let his fingers squeeze lightly as he pulled the line taut over a muscled thigh, or feel the heat between Hannibal’s legs despite the chill of the material that clung to Hannibal’s skin. 

Will peeled the edge of Hannibal’s shirt back, revealing the exit wound. His fingertips traced the outer edge, mesmerized by the rough texture. The wound rose and fell lightly with Hannibal’s breaths, his bound hands preventing Will from exposing more of Hannibal’s torso. 

Coming out of his daze, Will removed his hands from Hannibal, curling them into fists to stop the fine tremors. He stood on unsteady legs and assessed his handiwork, for once confident that he would not be taken by surprise by Hannibal Lecter. As added insurance, he located the key to the cabin and locked the door behind him as he went to fuel the motor and pull up anchor. 

By the onboard clock, it had only been two hours since dinner that evening. Mid-escape, Will had made the decision to transform from observer to participant, selecting the ingredients for their meal from a corner market. The prime porterhouse steak had been perfection itself, Will choosing the absolute best for what he’d assumed would be their last meal, one way or the other. The after dinner wine…

Clamping down on his memories, Will steered the yacht around the bluff, heading south. The two extra gas cans would get them well down the coast without the need to dock. Cuba was their safest bet, not willing to work with the U.S. on extraditing its criminal citizens. 

As he turned out into the open sea, the moon still flirting with him, Will made an abrupt U-turn. South would be expected; south made the most sense. Jack would think so, too, and set up blockades all along the southeastern seaboard. 

Will had no intention of returning to prison, especially at the hands of Jack Crawford and the FBI. North to New York, then, or possibly Maine. Somewhere crowded; somewhere they could blend into the background and not be noticed. 

He searched the bridge for marina information, coming up with a docking pass for Boston Harbor. He disabled the GPS to thwart being tracked and gave half a mind to tossing it overboard for good measure. Eyes adjusted to the grey night, he could just make out the coast and kept well away from it, using the moon’s last position to steer north. 

~.~

Several hours later, Will had to rest. His body was numb from the cold and medication, and his limbs felt weighted down. He eased the yacht closer to land and dropped anchor, leaving the navigation lights on before going below deck. 

With a healthy dose of trepidation, Will stole downstairs as quietly as he could, the stiffness in his movements making it difficult. 

Before he reached the bottom, he knew Hannibal was awake. Awareness sharpening as he unlocked the cabin door, Will’s gaze went immediately to Hannibal’s face. Lashes fluttered but remained stubbornly closed, Hannibal’s skin as grey as his ruined shirt.

Will gingerly sat on the edge of the bed near Hannibal’s hip, noting the thin red lines around Hannibal’s wrists. The way he’d tied Hannibal, the fishing line would cut through flesh with the slightest movement. It seemed Hannibal had already tested his bonds and opted not to fight them. 

Will felt no relief. He felt nothing, still numb with everything that had happened. 

A familiar, heavy weight drew his gaze; Hannibal’s pain-glazed eyes boring into his, seeking answers that Will didn’t have. 

Will’s jaw had stiffened with the cold and trauma, making movement near impossible. His attempt to speak ended with a garbled noise and he exhaled in frustration, not knowing how to make himself understood when he didn’t understand himself. 

Staring at Hannibal’s impassive gaze, neither accusatory or reverent, another sound of annoyance roared to life in Will’s chest. He leaned over Hannibal, all his weight balanced on his left hand at the side of Hannibal’s head, panting heavily as if he’d just crawled out of the ocean again. 

Hannibal’s gaze remained indifferent, as if being bound was a simple inconvenience. As if Will’s participation in Dolarhyde’s death held no significance. As if Will pulling them over the cliff meant nothing. As if Will meant nothing to him, when mere hours ago, Hannibal had lamented his compassion. 

_Furious_ at eyes that wouldn’t _see him_ , Will dropped the last few inches and touched their mouths together. A kiss by definition: Will’s lips were parted, encasing Hannibal’s mouth and gusting blood-warm air over Hannibal’s lips. Will didn’t exert pressure, merely let their breaths mingle and their heartbeats sync, watching for a change in Hannibal’s expression.

Rather than the expected minute twitches of muscles, Hannibal’s dark eyes snapped to life, disinterest giving way to curiosity. 

Both of them still wary, Will allowed his eyes to slip closed, extending his trust first. His breath hitched as he felt Hannibal’s lips move, hesitantly parting and pressing upward. Will uttered a soft sound of encouragement as his lips brushed back and forth over Hannibal’s, letting his body speak for him.

The lightest tug on his shirt reminded Will that his stomach was resting on Hannibal’s bound hands, giving him a measure of control. Emboldened, Will closed his mouth over Hannibal’s upper lip, sucking the dried saltwater from it. 

The reciprocal teeth gently worrying his lower lip felt like cautious desire. Will understood: their history was more pain than pleasurable. Of its own volition, his body remembered the feel of the knife slicing his gut and the vibrations of the blade cutting into his temple. But it also remembered the gentle cleansing of his bloody knuckles and the warmth of a palm against his cheek. 

Allowing himself to finally feel _everything_ , Will sighed into the kiss, mouths aligning and lips teasing, drawing little sounds from both of them. Will’s tongue felt too thick in his mouth, a weak sound of displeasure sticking in his throat when it wouldn’t cooperate. 

Hannibal took control of the kiss, angling his head to sink into Will’s mouth. Almost immediately, an aggrieved sound was pushed into Will’s mouth as Hannibal encountered the gauze. “I should check that,” Hannibal murmured against his lips, Will shivering at the concern in Hannibal's tone. 

Will opened his eyes, drawn immediately to Hannibal’s gaze now sparking with vitality. Without a sound, Will climbed off of Hannibal and retrieved the knife he’d used to cut the fishing line. He resumed his seat by Hannibal’s hip and slid the blade between the fishing line and Hannibal’s skin, carefully sawing until it broke. 

Snapping the blade closed and tossing it away, Will freed Hannibal’s hand and rubbed his thumb over the red lines, turning Hannibal’s wrist until Matthew Brown’s scar was visible. He pressed a reverent kiss to his mark by proxy, and then along the marks he’d just made, holding Hannibal’s wide gaze as his lips skimmed the delicate bones of Hannibal’s wrist. 

When he could feel tension in Hannibal’s body, Will pressed Hannibal’s palm to his bandaged cheek, silently giving his permission. 

His face was immediately enveloped by Hannibal’s hands, thumb stroking along the edge of the gauze. It was such a tender gesture, both foreign and expected, as was the soft kiss Hannibal bestowed him. 

“What else have you done?” Hannibal asked as he began to clinically inspect Will’s cheek from his half-reclining position. “Pain medication, I presume.” 

Will made a noise of agreement, giving himself over to strong, capable hands. He let out a surprised yelp when Hannibal dug a thumb into the hinge of his jaw, massaging it forcefully until it relaxed. He was prepared when Hannibal repeated the gesture to the other side, but it didn’t make the pain any less. 

Hannibal kissed his grimace until Will’s mouth relaxed and the pain faded, testing out the range of movement by deepening the kiss, parting Hannibal’s lips wide and slicking his tongue against Hannibal’s. 

Will echoed Hannibal’s moan, sharp pain returning as his facial muscles remembered how to move. “Shit, that hurts,” Will rasped, leaning into Hannibal’s hand now threaded in his hair. 

“Get the medical kit and I will tend to our wounds properly,” Hannibal instructed him quietly. 

When Will returned with the kit and two bottles of water, the fishing line was completely removed from Hannibal’s body, left in a coil on the floor. Will silently handed Hannibal the kit, not commenting on the beads of sweat on Hannibal’s forehead or the snarl of pain that pulled Hannibal’s upper lip back. Will didn’t need his special abilities to know that any attempt to have Hannibal treat the gunshot wound first would be politely rebuffed. 

Will sat stoically as Hannibal poked at his shoulder, but couldn’t stop the grunt of pain as Hannibal all but reopened the wound on his cheek and used glue to bind the edges together. The squeeze to his shoulder was hardly a comfort as the agony returned tenfold. 

Will’s hand was caught in Hannibal’s before he could press it against his throbbing cheek. “You can’t touch it for twenty-four hours and must keep it dry at least a week,” Hannibal instructed him, kissing his clenched fist. The kiss did nothing to ease the stinging pain but it was effective in keeping Will from touching his face. 

Will snarled as Hannibal informed him, “I had to ensure that the edges were straight and clean before binding them together. Glue will lessen the scarring.” 

“You know I don’t give a fuck about scarring, but you’d love another mark on my body,” Will accused through clenched teeth, the wave of pain cresting and darkening his vision. 

“A scar would better alter your appearance,” Hannibal mused thoughtfully, “But if it didn’t heal properly, you would be in constant discomfort.”

“Wouldn’t want that, would we?” Will muttered sarcastically, immediately regretting his words. The escalating pain was fueling his temper, but that was no excuse for his rude behavior. Hannibal loved him for his mind, not his appearance. 

Time stopped as the realization swept over Will for the thousandth time. All the denials, all the distance, all the _time_ hadn’t lessened the impact of that awareness. Even if Hannibal couched it in the lesser damnation of ‘compassion’, it was still a form of love. 

And Will _ached_ for it. 

He closed his eyes and concentrated on his breathing, getting his emotions under control again. When Will spoke, it was with a much more civilized tongue. “Do you need help checking your back or can I take more meds and pass out on you?”

The small tick of Hannibal’s lips heartened him, and Will followed every one of Hannibal’s instructions on how to check for foreign objects in the entry and exit wounds. 

By the time Will finished, Hannibal looked as drained as Will felt, the air heavy with their exhaustion. Will handed over the analgesics and accepted whatever pill Hannibal gave him, swallowing it down with a swig from the water bottle. 

Knowing he’d fall asleep before he made it to the other cabin, Will took off his shoes and crawled over to the far side of the bed, stretching out on his back. He kept his breathing even and steady, watching Hannibal through half-lidded eyes. 

Hannibal fussed with putting the kit back in order, but Will could sense his nervous energy. “I dropped anchor just far enough from shore to make us look like fisherman,” he explained. “Pre-dawn fishing is normal in these parts. We won’t draw suspicion.” 

“That’s not what concerns me,” Hannibal said, then tilted his head to the left, mild irritation thinning his lips. “Concern is not what I feel.” 

Will allowed the uptick of his lips; it was his turn to play psychiatrist. “What do you feel?” he asked. 

“Cautious,” Hannibal replied immediately, then followed much more hesitantly by, “Hopeful. Did you experience a rebirth in the Atlantic?”

“I experienced it on the cliff,” Will challenged lightly, fighting against the need to yawn, knowing it would be excruciating. “The ocean numbed me until I wasn’t. It chilled me until I wasn’t. It exhausted me and I just want to rest, but I can’t because you won’t lie down.” 

Hannibal’s face was a blank canvas to Will, revealing absolutely nothing. It was disheartening but understandable: Will hadn’t actively made a decision concerning Hannibal until their eyes met across the battlefield. He didn’t want Hannibal to die by Dolarhyde’s hand. That honor was _his_. 

After the Dragon was dead, Will had taken the only option he thought open to him. Morals versus ethics, hunted by the FBI, a future where Hannibal was dead or they were both imprisoned: the outcome would always be their separation. 

Life without Hannibal was safe. Easy to navigate and survive. Will knew his place in the world and what was expected of him, and it wasn’t anything challenging.

Hannibal was challenging. Hannibal _pushed_. Hannibal made him question and bleed and… _connect_. 

“You said my evolution would take time,” Will casually remarked to the ceiling, but heard the faint tremor in his own voice. “It would be painful and most likely unconscionable.” 

He had Hannibal’s full, enraptured attention, but Will kept his gaze fixed on the ceiling. He couldn’t afford to be distracted by Hannibal’s reaction. “Killing Dolarhyde was survival. Instinctive.” He struggled to find the right feeling. “Uncomplicated. He had to die so that we could live. In that moment, it was my only thought.” 

The bed dipped as Hannibal finally settled next to Will, easing a tightness in Will’s chest. Though Will didn’t look over, he felt the heat emanating from Hannibal’s body stretched out beside him. 

“What were your thoughts as we embraced?” Hannibal asked, voice just shy of gruff.

“Being separated from you, either by death or prison.” Will carefully rolled onto his good side, studying Hannibal’s profile. As stoic as ever, but Will could just make out the tightening around Hannibal’s eyes. Nervous. Discomfited. 

Will wanted to reach out and soothe Hannibal, but sensed it wasn’t the right time. “Both options were abhorrent to me, so I chose to remain with you, the only way I saw how in that moment. I chose to die with you, rather than live without you. Hannibal,” he breathed, leaning closer, eyes fixed on Hannibal’s mouth. “My empathy for you has been an inconvenience since the first meal we shared.” 

Hannibal’s huff of indignation was offset by the small smile playing about his lips. “You said you didn’t find me interesting.” 

“An inconvenience,” Will repeated with a rueful smile. “No one understood me until you,” he admitted quietly. “My forts were safeguarded against letting anyone get too close, but you dismantled them stone by stone, and now we’re here.” 

“Where is here, Will?” Hannibal questioned. “Once we reach land, will you still choose to die with me, rather than live without me?” 

Will fought the instinct to roll his eyes at the blatant ploy, deciding now was the time to add touch to their conversation. The pins and needles in his arm were a good sign, even if he held a scream behind his teeth. The steady thump of Hannibal’s heart beneath his hand was in direct contradiction to Hannibal’s discordant breathing. Using their physical connection as an anchor, Will finally, truthfully, laid himself bare. “I’m not a killer like you, but I won’t let anyone hurt us again.” 

He endured Hannibal’s scrutiny, though Will began to fidget after several long minutes of Hannibal not speaking. 

All the breath left Will’s lungs at once as Hannibal tenderly cupped his jaw, his voice rough with emotion as Hannibal declared softly, “No, you’re not a killer like me. You are your own unique design, identically different from me. I wouldn’t want you any other way.” 

Nervously licking his lips, Will asked the most terrifying question of his life. “Is the killer all you want?” 

His shoulders relaxed as Hannibal pulled him down into a chaste kiss, every part of his body electrifying as Hannibal’s gentleness gave way to passion.

It was long minutes before they parted, the heat now coursing through Will’s body chasing away the last of the cold and numbness. The clarity that had eluded him since killing Dolarhyde was now firmly in his grasp, now beating a faster rhythm beneath his palm.

Hannibal’s eyes practically glowed, shining up at him with adoration and wonder. “When we’re recovered, I would very much like to repeat that experience.” 

Will curled his fingers in Hannibal’s shirt, using it as leverage to pull himself closer to Hannibal’s side. “To repeat an experience lacks imagination. My design starts where that experience ends,” he murmured, dipping his head to suck lightly at the cleft in Hannibal’s chin. 

“It will be an honor to participate in one of your designs,” Hannibal said softly, palm resting against Will’s uninjured cheek.

When Hannibal smiled, Will was helpless to do anything but smile in answer, the burn of tears stinging his eyes. To see such a look of joy transform Hannibal’s features from the severe, controlled projection was a rare gift, and Will cherished it. 

But neither of them was in any shape to act on their passion. Before they could indulge, there were practical matters to attend. With a soft press of lips to Hannibal’s smile, Will promised, “When we’re healed. My triage training didn’t go beyond keeping pressure on the GSW to stop the victim from bleeding out. I need information from you, specifically what could go wrong with our injuries and how to treat it.” 

The corners of Hannibal’s eyes crinkled with his smile, sending Will’s stomach on a rollercoaster journey. “Why must you always deny my good intentions?” 

Chuckling, Will shifted until he could lay his head on the pillow next to Hannibal’s, leaning into Hannibal’s shoulder. “I’m merely postponing them until we can fully appreciate each other.” A yawn threatened again and Will’s hand involuntarily clenched in Hannibal’s shirt with the effort to stave it off. Fingertips trailed over his jaw and down his throat, palm resting warm and strong against the side of Will’s neck, provided a perfect distraction. 

Hannibal sounded preoccupied as he said, “After we rest, I will write up a list of symptoms and the escalation scale of treatments. Most of the stronger medications are liquid. Do you know how to properly use a syringe?”

The impulse to thank Hannibal for not stating that he was going to teach Will how to properly use a syringe was quickly squashed, though Will hid his smile in Hannibal’s shoulder. “Yes, Hannibal,” he dutifully replied, sighing as his eyes drooped with heaviness. The meds were kicking in and Will was ready to drift off into the quiet dark. It had to be going on three a.m. and whatever adrenaline had kept him upright was long gone.

“I admit to feeling the medication pulling at me, as well,” Hannibal commiserated on a jaw-cracking yawn. “When should we arrive in Cuba?”

“Nuh—” Will snuffled, forcing himself to stay awake another minute and to articulate his words. “Jack would suspect Cuba. Found a marina pass for Boston on the bridge.”

Will smiled as he felt Hannibal’s lips against his forehead. “You clever boy. I shall treat you to lobster steamed over seaweed, prepared with lemon thyme butter.” 

“As long as you don’t expect me to catch ‘em,” Will muttered, feeling the security of Hannibal’s hand at the crook of his arm, anchoring them together before darkness claimed him.

The End

**Author's Note:**

> Translation of the title should be "anchor" in Lithuanian. 
> 
> I took a page from Bilbo Baggins' book of birthdays and finished this WIP for you all in honor of my birthday.


End file.
